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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235747">been through hell and come out singing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/pseuds/NatRoze'>NatRoze</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Aymeric finally introduces his boyfriends properly, Established Relationship, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but aLSO THIS IS A SOFT FIC WITH HUMOR IN IT, yall cant tell me there's no ptsd in this group post-heavensward</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:27:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/pseuds/NatRoze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aymeric drags Estinien to an Ishgardian ball as his plus one, with the promise of a surprise on the other side if he survives the experience without killing or maiming anyone. The surprise is Haurchefant.</p><p>(Haurchefant, to be fair, is pleasantly surprised himself.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood, Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>been through hell and come out singing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be published during the Valentiones 2020 event but then spring 2020 happened and I forgot about it until May.</p><p>ANYWAY if you haven't finished Heavensward, this fic contains major spoilers by means of it's an AU where certain things went differently during it. Probably save this one for after you've made it to Stormblood in the main story quests.</p><p>If you're already there/don't care about spoilers:<br/>THIS IS AN EVERYONE LIVES AU. It's relatively glossed over as to HOW, but Haurchefant and Ysayle are having a blast at this party and that's what matters to me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So that’s what the infamous Azure Dragoon looks like out of armor. Surprised he’s got a face.”</p><p>“A <em> nice </em> face.” Haurchefant swoons a little. He quickly straightens up as he sees Emmanellain staring, dumbfounded.</p><p>“Nice? He seems like he might bite.”</p><p>“<em>Handsome</em>, I mean.”</p><p>“He looks like a shark,” Emmanellain quips.</p><p>Haurchefant snorts at his half-brother. “You’ve never seen a shark.” </p><p>Leave it to the Lord Commander to do the impossible and manage to drag Estinien Wyrmblood himself to the first formal event he’s attended in years. Especially considering this is the first major gathering of Ishgardian nobility in the wake of the Dragonsong war. Haurchefant is pretty sure Aymeric could do anything he set his mind to. Sometimes, that’s a reassurance. Right now—he watches Artoirel take one look at Estinien’s glower before snagging an extra flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant—he thinks it’s a little terrifying. </p><p>This is, at the end of the day, a Valentione’s party and not a political event. But that doesn’t stop people from using it to their political conveniences. So recently in the aftermath of Nidhogg’s assaults, when Aymeric’s trust and popularity are still a tentative thing, his decision to show up with the notoriously asocial and recently-recovered Azure Dragoon himself as his plus one is definitely a power move. Considering the expression on Estinien’s face, it’s practically an intimidation tactic.</p><p>“He looks like what a shark <em> seems </em>like, if you follow my meaning.” Emmanellain shrugs, continuing to fill his hors d’oeuvres plate with tiny cheese cubes. </p><p>Haurchefant lets his gaze linger on Estinien’s long silver hair (slightly tousled), his ice-blue eyes (narrowed) and sharp nose (wrinkled in distaste), his pristine indigo doublet (absolutely Aymeric’s, Haurchefant recognizes it). The visible muscles of his arms where his shirt wraps his strong biceps, his long fingers tapping in irritation. He’s witnessed the man at least partially-unarmored before, but so rarely that it’s always a treat. This is, in fact, the first time he’s seen him entirely disarmed.</p><p>“Elegant and powerful, if... out of his element,” Haurchefant suggests, trying not to let a smile creep onto his face. As prickly as Estinien is, it’s always been hard for Haurchefant to not fall just a bit for every heroic figure he meets.</p><p>“A sharp and deadly predator,” Emmanellain retorts, popping a cheese cube in his mouth. “I know it’s your favorite holiday, brother, and you are <em> ever </em> wont to wax poetic about god knows what rugged adventurer-types, but... Estinien Wyrmblood? Are you alright? Near-death experience getting to you?”</p><p>Haurchefant shivers at the sudden reference. He knows he’s alright. He <em> knows </em> he’s alive. But Emmanellain doesn’t know about the creeping chill in the back of his mind, the frigid edges of losing consciousness, of the blurry sunset blinding what might’ve been his last view. Emmanellain doesn’t know he has gold-tinged nightmares of dying. </p><p>The warm lights of the party seem suddenly too bright, too garish. Haurchefant shuts his eyes, feels immediate cold discomfort, and reopens them to overfocus on the hors d’oeuvres table. He zeroes in on a display plate of tiny daintily-rolled spinach wraps. They’re each speared through, held together by tiny toothpicks styled like cupid’s arrows, and he has to look away again almost immediately.</p><p>“This is a <em> party </em> and we aren’t going to talk about <em> that </em>,” interrupts the Warrior of Light, as they appear out of nowhere in a crisp Valentione’s outfit. They rest a gentle hand on Haurchefant’s back, and he relaxes immediately. Everything is fine. Somehow or another this crazy bastard made sure everything was fine. He’s not asking too many questions. The last time he did, he got fed a wild spiel about Allagan supertech and an eccentric miqo’te on another star, and he’d tuned out, feeling rather overwhelmed.</p><p>The Warrior of Light is drinking with the rest of the partygoers, but pouring theirs out of a flask they seem to have brought themself. They offer it to Haurchefant as Emmanellain wanders off, probably in the direction of the nearest pretty woman. The steam and aroma wafting out of the flask is clearly that of a soothing, gently-floral herbal tea.</p><p>“I’m alright, my friend,” he assures them. He’s never pestered them about the No Drinks I Don’t Pour Myself thing, and he’s not going to, because there seems to be a blind spot with his bringing them cocoa. He doesn’t want to draw attention to it and risk them no longer accepting his offerings. </p><p>These days, it seems like so many of them have things they just don’t ask each other about. <em> A hallmark of war, </em> Ser Lucia had called it, bitterly. Of bravery in the face of danger and death. A hallmark of living against all odds.</p><p>“You’ve never seen Estinien out of armor?” the Warrior of Light offers instead. Haurchefant shakes his head.</p><p>“Not entirely, anyway. He is rather elusive.”</p><p>“And just as prickly without it equipped,” the Warrior admits, nodding across the room. Estinien, still at Aymeric’s side, is visibly growling at whoever they’re speaking to. “He’s like a big outdoor cat.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>The Warrior shrugs, counting on their fingers. “Only enjoys the company of about three people; shows it by insulting them or silently standing in the same room with ‘em. Likes to perch in high places. Presents you with dead things as a token of affection.”</p><p>“That does seem to track. Wait, dead things—”</p><p>“Hraesvelger’s eye. I re-gifted it.”</p><p>Haurchefant can’t help but laugh. The two of them watch Aymeric maneuver through the party with ease, cordially greeting and chatting up anyone who desires his attention, Estinien following behind him like a particularly displeased shadow. Occasionally he opens his mouth to say something and half the people in hearing distance flinch or become visibly incensed, but Aymeric often has them backing down with a cordial smile and a wave of his hand. </p><p>Aymeric truly is a master of the art of high society, even if Haurchefant knows that most of it involves a very good poker face and a well-practiced silver tongue. That  silver tongue could charm the pants off of anyone he set his sights on—figuratively <em> and </em> literally, as he has already proven plenty of times on Haurchefant himself. </p><p>Not that Haurchefant is complaining.</p><p>They catch each other’s eyes from across the room, and Aymeric shoots him a decidedly more genuine smile, one that reaches all the way to his eyes. Haurchefant preens a bit. Even if he knows he has some degree of Aymeric’s favor, it’s always nice to be reminded.</p><p>“You’re not subtle,” says the Warrior of Light with a smirk. Haurchefant scoffs and makes a show of looking mock-offended. </p><p>“Am I not, though?”</p><p>“Not in the least. You nearly invited <em> me </em> up to your quarters at Camp Dragonhead right in front of Alphinaud once.” They smirk at him over their tea. This isn’t the first time they’ve teased him about being forward, and it probably won’t be the last. </p><p>“<em> Once </em>,” he insists, “After weeks of subtle flirting. And mind you, that tactic usually works for me.” It’d gone over pretty well with Aymeric, anyway, even if Haurchefant recalls an enormous amount of butterflies in his stomach as he did it. </p><p>“You’re as subtle as landing a dragon in the middle of this ballroom,” says the Warrior of Light, and then someone’s calling their name from the other end of the hors d’oeuvres table. Haurchefant has the privilege of watching them plaster on their Dealing With Morons face before they realize it’s Hilda. Some ten feet away, the half-elezen woman is waving the Warrior over, Ysayle Dangoulain at her side. Haurchefant has no idea who convinced whom to let Lady Iceheart into the party, much less who introduced her to Hilda of all people, but she seems to be enjoying herself. Haurchefant had been surprised to find her to be a rather cordial, charismatic woman when she wasn't leading a crowd of raging heretics bent on breaking down the city gates.</p><p>“Well, happy Valentione’s, don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” says the Warrior of Light. They fidget irritatedly with their fancy clothes, nod to Haurchefant, and leave his side.</p><p>“I’ll take that as encouragement, as the list of things you wouldn’t do is startlingly short,” he calls after them.</p><p>“List of things you wouldn’t… pardon?”</p><p>Aymeric has appeared out of the crowd, Estinien still lurking at his side. <em> Speaking of things I’d definitely do</em>, thinks Haurchefant. Aloud, he says, “A wonderful happy Valentione’s to you, my lord, and you as well, Ser Estinien.”</p><p>Aymeric goes in for a cordial, friendly kiss on each of Haurchefant’s cheeks. On the second one, he pauses to whisper to Haurchefant, “I’ve promised poor Estinien a <em> gift </em> if he survives the party. How do you feel about treating him to a surprise with me?”</p><p>Haurchefant bites his lip as his face heats up. With just that, Aymeric’s turned the entire event upside down out of nowhere.</p><p>It’s no secret between himself and Aymeric, after the number of nights they’ve spent together, that Haurchefant would be one hundred percent open to it if Estinien ever desired to join the pair of them. He’s very aware that his own relationship with Aymeric–which has thus far maintained its air of casual bed partners with occasional more-serious flirtations on both their parts—has a rather different tone than Aymeric and Estinien’s rather more… eternally ride-or-die, sentimentally sensual bond. </p><p>Frankly, he’d assumed by now that Estinien wasn’t interested in him. It’s not like Haurchefant has never endeavored to get to know him, the sparse few times they’ve been in the same room. He’s certainly tried. The Azure Dragoon is simply an ever-elusive adversary to all social engagements, so Haurchefant has barely had the chance to do much but appreciate him from afar.</p><p>“I can’t say I’m not surprised, but I would be <em> quite </em> delighted,” he whispers back, punctuating it with a quick kiss of his own. He feels Aymeric smile against his cheek.</p><p>“I have some less-than-friendly obligations to keep conversation with,” says Aymeric, pulling away. He pats Estinien on the arm. “For which, as much as I adore your companionship, my dear friend, I fear the political deliberations might suffer for the addition of your sharp tongue. Lord Haurchefant,” he says, and bows lightly, and gently nudges Estinien towards Haurchefant as he makes a graceful exit.</p><p>“Polite way of saying I’ll ruin his negotiations,” Estinien growls under his breath. Haurchefant pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. Estinien doesn’t entirely <em> startle </em> at the contact (and Haurchefant mentally kicks himself for forgetting which of his shoulders has the burn scars from where the eyes of Nidhogg were removed), but he does immediately look up at Haurchefant, a slight bit bewildered.</p><p>Wait, <em> up. </em></p><p>Without the dragoon armor and its spiky, heeled boots, Haurchefant suddenly realizes he’s taller than Estinien. They’d been nearly eye to eye when Estinien was in full armor. Or… eye to helmet visor, usually. Now, Estinien has to look just slightly <em> up </em> to talk to him, and that’s having an entirely unexpected effect on Haurchefant’s head. Forget Estinien surviving this party, Haurchefant might not make it through the evening himself. He needs a drink. Possibly some air.</p><p>“I’m sure he just wants to give you room to breathe outside the bubble of political niceties,” Haurchefant assures Estinien, forcing himself to retain a modicum of composure. “Come, peruse the snacks with me. Have you eaten?”</p><p>“Food is the only reason I’m here.” Estinien looks almost relieved to be ushered back to the hors d’oeuvres and handed a plate. He immediately descends on a display platter of various meats cut into little heart shapes.</p><p>“I’m sure that’s not the <em> only </em> reason,” Haurchefant teases, gently brushing a lock of Estinien’s hair out of his face, laying the flirt on <em> just </em> a tiny bit. He has Aymeric’s permission, yes, but he’s not going to simply throw himself at Estinien before he gets that same permission from the elezen himself. Or at all, in front of this much of an audience, on <em> Saint Valentione’s day</em>. He has <em> some </em> decorum, despite the Warrior of Light’s insinuations otherwise.</p><p>Estinien pauses, quite comedically, with a miniature sausage speared on a tiny fork halfway to his mouth. He stares Haurchefant down, entirely unmoving, as his face slowly turns a bright shade of vermillion. Then, equally slowly, he sets the sausage down on his plate, glares adamantly at his food, and bites his lip, and Haurchefant nearly passes out trying to contain himself. </p><p> </p><p><em> Dear Fury, no wonder Estinien keeps the helmet on all the time</em>, he thinks. <em> He’s horribly easy to read with his face on display. </em>It’s awfully endearing, even if Estinien’s face is starting to look like a tomato.</p><p>Estinien re-establishes eye contact with Haurchefant and takes a particularly violent bite of sausage. Haurchefant tries not to wince, but the smirk on Estinien’s face says he hasn’t succeeded.</p><p>“There might be other reasons,” he mutters, cheeks still faintly pink and fork still hanging out of his mouth like a child. He’s still smirking though, so that’s all the affirmation Haurchefant needs. He winks at Estinien. Estinien’s smirk breaks into a flustered look of surprise, for just a second. </p><p>Aymeric might be the social juggernaut, but Haurchefant can absolutely hold his own in this particular arena. Estinien doesn’t stand a chance.</p><p>“Excuse me, aren’t you the Azure Dragoon?”</p><p>Haurchefant watches Estinien go visibly still before him. A small group of younger nobles has shown up beside them. Two of their trio, a blond elezen girl and a brunette hyur, are eyeing Estinien with open curiosity. The third, an elezen with stark black hair, has his eyes narrowed. Haurchefant is overcome with the distinct suspicion he’s about to find out why Estinien avoids events such as this. </p><p>“It <em> is </em> him, I told you!” the blond girl whispers loudly behind her hand. “Tell him!”</p><p>“Um,” the brunette yelps. </p><p>“In the spirit of Saint Valentione,” the girl begins, and Haurchefant realizes belatedly that she may in fact be one of the Valentione cousins. A potential emissary of ardor in training. Estinien’s eyebrow twitches behind his bangs. </p><p>“Oh, Halone,” says the brunette, wringing her hands and reaching to stop her friend. </p><p>“My dear friend here thinks you’re <em> quite </em> dashing, and would love to spend the night in your company—” begins the blond, and Haurchefant watches on in horror as the brunette girl covers her face in her hands and Estinien’s grip tightens on his hors d’oeuvre fork. </p><p>“Didn’t you try to kill someone to stop that peace talk with the Dravanians?” interrupts the young man, and Estinien visibly pales. “I was there, that <em> was </em> the Azure Dragoon, wasn’t it? That monster was <em> you </em>.”</p><p>He’s smiling. This is purposefully to get a rise out of Estinien. For what, Haurchefant can’t begin to imagine. A power play of sorts against Ishgard’s most terrifying, where he can’t do a thing about it, perhaps. </p><p>Estinien grits his teeth. The hand gripping the hors d’oeuvre fork shakes slightly with the effort likely holding it back from stabbing a civilian.</p><p>Haurchefant plasters on his most beatific smile. Nobody is getting hors d’oeuvre forked by the Azure Dragoon if he can help it. </p><p>“I’m certain it couldn’t have been this beautiful specimen,” he says, draping one arm around Estinien’s shoulders. His other hand rests gently on Estinien’s wrist, in case Estinien decides the fork really should meet this kid’s eye or something. Estinien’s muscles are painfully tense under Haurchefant’s touch, and he gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before he winks at the trio before them. “As he was rather occupied with <em> my </em> company at the time.”</p><p>It’s a lie—it was absolutely Estinien that day, and Haurchefant was absolutely still unconscious and under close observation of several chirurgeons—but one doesn’t live as a known bastard in noble society without learning to lie well and stifle their anger. And under the smile, Haurchefant feels a new and fervent protective irritation. By the way Estinien’s fingers are twitching on the handle of the fork, he also feels there’s at least a thirty percent chance he’s going to be leaving this party after breaking up a fight. </p><p>The trio of nobles all make their startled remarks; both girls alternately chastise their friend and each other, and the boy stammers his way through some sort of excuse, and all through it Haurchefant keeps a smile on his face and a grip on Estinien’s wrist. He can feel it shaking with the effort not to stab. </p><p>“If you don’t mind,” he says, somewhat desperately, and then he does them all the courtesy of steering a board-stiff and silently furious Estinien out of the crowd. He finally relinquishes his grip when they make it to the edge of the room, and leans against the wall. Estinien lets out a ragged breath of frustration and sags backward against the gaudy wallpaper beside him. </p><p>“I despise these,” he says to the party at large. </p><p>“Apologies, my friend.”</p><p>“Upper society is full of cretins, cravens, and children in men’s clothing.”</p><p>“You didn’t deserve that harassment. I’ll see that his family hears what he said to you.”</p><p>“I can fight my own battles, Lord Haurchefant.”</p><p>“Oh, drop the ‘Lord,’ it’s fine.” He leans in to murmur so only Estinien can hear him. “The best part of these events, if you ask <em> me</em>,” he says, “is the people-watching.”</p><p>“I don’t care for <em> any </em> aspect of them,” Estinien admits. “The people in particular are appalling, as you just saw. Not Aymeric, obviously,” he adds. “The Warrior of Light is tolerable. <em> You’ve </em> yet to offend.” He shoots a wary look at Haurchefant. It seems <em> he </em>won’t be getting stabbed with a fork, which is a relief.</p><p>“I think you would find great amusement in Lady Hilda’s company, but…” Haurchefant glances across the ballroom to where Hilda has an arm around a flustered Lucia’s waist as she regales Ysayle and the Warrior of Light with a raucous tale. “She seems occupied, so you’re stuck with my handsome face for company instead.”</p><p>Estinien huffs out a bare breath of a laugh. Haurchefant catches the faintest smile flicker across Estinien’s face, and he smiles in return. </p><p>“The audacity of the guests, anyway, is often the entertainment. Allow me to try and change your mind?” he offers. </p><p>Estinien shrugs, and Haurchefant nods in the direction of a small group of women. Estinien says nothing, but he does quirk one curious eyebrow as he gracelessly chows down on his plateful of meats and cheeses.</p><p>“Lady Laniaitte, over there, for example—” and here, Haurchefant leans in close and gestures so he’s sure Estinien can see the House Haillenarte daughter to whom he’s referring, “—is unfortunately about to be subjected to Eorzea’s worst poetry by means of a botched Valentione’s courtship attempt from his dear Lordship, my younger brother.”</p><p>“And this is meant to amuse me how?” Estinien asks, even as Emmanellain approaches the young woman, puffed-up and dreadfully confident. Haurchefant had at least managed to half-stifle his laughter when Emmanellain ran the poem by him yesterday, and he’d done his best to suggest it could use a revision before its debut. He doubts it’s seen so much as a drop of ink to amend it since.</p><p>“Have you ever heard my brother’s poetry?”</p><p>“I’m not sure I've heard his <em> name </em>.” Estinien has not leaned away from Haurchefant. In fact, he’s perhaps snuck just the tiniest bit closer, slouching down the wall and sequestering himself in Haurchefant’s shadow. Their arms brush, and Haurchefant nudges Estinien’s fingers with the tips of his own. For just a second, he feels Estinien reach out to take his hand, but he slips back away at the last second.</p><p>Audible over the crowd even at this distance, Emmanellain announces, “My dearest lady Laniaitte, might I regale you with an ode to your beauty?”</p><p>Across the room, Artoirel catches Haurchefant’s eye, and fixes him with a glare that says, <em> I thought I told you to stop him before he does this. </em> </p><p>He had. Haurchefant may have conveniently “forgotten.” Dinner parties are always more entertaining with a show. And some lessons are best learned by experience. Even if this is the third Poetry Episode, and Emmanellain shows no sign of learning a thing from the experience.</p><p>“Your eyes are an ocean,” begins Emmanellain, who has never seen the sea. “Your breasts are also an ocean—”</p><p>Estinien snorts loudly, and nearly chokes on his food laughing. Haurchefant pats him on the back until he regains his composure and stops coughing. The Azure Dragoon has a half-breathless, inelegant laugh, that without context might be indistinguishable from a wheeze. It sounds very much like Estinien is not used to doing it, and that tears at Haurchefant’s heartstrings a little bit. It also fills him with a sense of great achievement and privilege, that he’s able to witness it.</p><p>Haurchefant looks back up to see Emmanellain get a drink spilled on him as at least three Valentione cousins scramble to referee the potential “romantic” engagement. Artoirel, across the room, downs another flute of champagne without breaking eye contact with Haurchefant. Then, to Haurchefant’s surprise, he catches Aymeric mid-exit to a side chamber with a few members of House Dzemael, shooting him a smile and a wink. Haurchefant winks back, and Aymeric relaxes just slightly. He offers Haurchefant a coy little wave as he vanishes through the doorway.</p><p>While Aymeric disappears to talk politics, Haurchefant leans back and regales Estinien with any story he can dredge up: random gossip about random nobles, mentions of the odd goings-on of Camp Dragonhead and House Fortemps (featuring the previous two Poetry Incidents), and the story of his first encounters with the Warrior of Light and their companions. In exchange for that last one, Estinien offers tales of his own, telling Haurchefant about traveling to Dravania with his oddest of companions, of fighting Nidhogg at the Warrior’s side, and one particularly irritated and hilarious anecdote about wanting to stab moogles. It’s the most Haurchefant’s ever heard Estinien talk. </p><p>When his voice gets low and serious, and he tells Haurchefant what it felt like to kill Nidhogg, to have his revenge of nearly two decades and find it wanting and empty of catharsis, it sticks in Haurchefant’s heart like so many arrows. It’s difficult not to reach out and embrace him, to rest their foreheads together, whisper quiet sentiments to Estinien that he need not define himself by the tragedy of his past any longer. But as much as Estinien has lowered his walls, Haurchefant is not yet sure he’d be welcomed behind them like that. Also, Estinien’s still got the hors d’oeuvre fork, and Haurchefant is disinclined to test new physical affection limits until he puts it down.</p><p>Somewhere toward the end of the conversation, they make it out into the courtyard behind the manor. The sun has mostly already set, and warm light spills out the windows of the manor behind them as they walk between the neatly-pruned hedges. It’s not especially cold out, but the golden glow of the manor lights still creeps the memory of sunset into Haurchefant’s periphery, and he stands a little closer to Estinien nonetheless. Even the last bleeding edge of sunset orange is a little much. Something about the serious tone of the tale of Nidhogg, the recollection of what Estinien and the Warrior of Light came home to after, the silhouette of the Holy See in the distance—</p><p>“We can go back in,” Estinien suggests with a half-nod toward the sky, startling Haurchefant. It’s as if the man’s reading his mind. He recalls, very suddenly and with extreme clarity, that Estinien was there that evening too. Those details don’t escape a trained soldier. </p><p>“I’m—” he wants to say fine, as he turns fully toward Estinien. Estinien, with his back to the sunset, wreathed in gold, and <em> oh, Fury</em>. He wants to pretend that none of it ever happened, that he never almost-died. But just like that, he can see it all again: Estinien’s murderous fervency in combat; Aymeric chained and broken in the Vault, the shocked relief in his eyes at the sight of them come to save him; the blinding light and the rush of adrenaline as Haurchefant had rushed to defend the Warrior of Light. Dying in Aymeric’s arms. The Warrior of Light forcing a smile. The harsh golden glow of sunset.</p><p>He doesn’t realize he’s been moved over to a bench in the distant shade of the garden until the cold of its stone sinks fully into the backs of his legs. Slowly, he comes back to the cool blues of Ishgard at night, stone and steel and soft white hair in his peripheral vision. Slowly, the distant noise of the party fades back in. The warmth of Estinien leaning against him is the last thing to register, and selfishly he leans into the touch. To his absolute surprise, Estinien lets him.</p><p>“I’m alright now,” he says, turning and burying his face in Estinien’s shoulder. He feels a little blanked-out, and the first proper thought that floats to the surface is that he’s sad he couldn’t appreciate how strikingly handsome Estinien must have been in the golden hour lighting. </p><p>“You don’t have to be,” Estinien murmurs. “If anyone’s going to understand that…”</p><p>The unsaid <em> I will </em> hangs in the air. Haurchefant is startled at how soft his voice can go. How easily he lets himself sound so vulnerable. The privilege of the disturbingly powerful, maybe. Maybe Estinien is just as surprised with himself. Maybe this is his normal voice, when he’s not being tempered by the volume of crowds or threats. </p><p>“I am,” he promises. “Just lost in thought for a moment.”</p><p>Estinien nods. His fingers twitch, where they’re braced on his knee, as if he wants to reach out. He doesn’t, and Haurchefant doesn’t reach for him either, but part of him is screaming that he should.</p><p>“A dreadful place to be lost,” Estinien murmurs, almost to himself. Louder, he says, “I want to apologize. For not being able to… I am… not good with losing people. Even if we aren’t yet close… the thought that even with as strong as I’ve become, even with allies surrounding us, there being nothing I could do to protect—”</p><p>“I’m alive, Ser Estinien,” Haurchefant rushes to assure him, a little bit breathless. Estinien’s voice was <em> shaking</em>. The Warrior of Light, too, had tried to take the blame for Haurchefant’s near-death, as had Aymeric. To think even Estinien felt guilt when <em> none </em> of them were to blame… “Even after everything, I swear I am alright.” He sits up straight, and then after a beat, he opens his arms to invite Estinien into a hug. It’s a longshot, but he’d never have pegged Estinien as one to give any kind of comfort himself to begin with, so it’s worth the shot.</p><p>It takes a long time. And Estinien doesn’t quite acquiesce to an actual embrace. But, with an unreadable face and a curt nod, he does lean his forehead against Haurchefant’s shoulder. Haurchefant reaches up and tentatively runs his fingers through Estinien’s messy hair. To his surprise, Estinien relaxes against him and shudders out a long, exhausted sigh.</p><p>“You can drop the ‘Ser,’” he says. “Fuck, nobody calls me <em> ser</em>.”</p><p>Haurchefant nods, leaning his cheek against the top of Estinien’s head. </p><p>“When I woke up,” he says, “they told me what had happened. I must apologize in turn, my friend, that I could not have been there to—”</p><p>“There’s nothing you could have done,” Estinien interrupts, guarded once again. Haurchefant can hear the change in his tone now that he’s listening for it.</p><p>“To at least <em> try </em>to help. What’s the point of convictions if we don’t hold to them? I’d put myself on the line for someone I care for any day.”</p><p>The Warrior of Light had, in extreme confidence, told Haurchefant that Estinien had been prepared to die to let them finish off Nidhogg, at the end. Right up until they and Alphinaud had rushed forth and were actually succeeding at freeing him from the eyes. Oddly, the Warrior of Light had also mentioned thinking that for just a moment, they’d <em> seen </em> Haurchefant—and Lady Ysayle as well—on the battlefield with themself and Alphinaud, at Estinien’s side to save him. It wasn’t possible, of course, as Haurchefant hadn’t woken until several days after.   </p><p>The scar on his chest aches, suddenly. He tries to pay it no mind.</p><p>Estinien huffs out a quiet curse against Haurchefant’s collarbone and buries his face further into his shoulder. Haurchefant pauses, fingers freezing half-caught in Estinien’s silver-white hair. </p><p>“Can I ask—” Estinien begins, and then pauses. “You need not answer. It’s just that not many can say they’ve stared martyrdom in the face and lived. And I still can’t look Ysayle in the eye.”</p><p>“Ask away.”  Haurchefant steels himself.</p><p>“Did you realize,” says Estinien, “in the moment of your—all I could think about when they came to face m— <em> Nidhogg </em> down was all the things I’d never... All the—”</p><p>“—words left unsaid, and such?” Haurchefant laughs half-heartedly. Estinien shrugs and nods against Haurchefant’s shoulder. “You were there to hear mine.” </p><p><em> A smile better suits a hero</em>. Or the nearest approximation of words left unsaid. Haurchefant has a <em> lot </em> of words he’s never said to the long list of people he’s fallen a little bit in love with.</p><p>“...Ah.”</p><p>It hits him like a bolt of lightning that his little crush on Estinien might count as that. His curiosity over his relationship with Aymeric. So many doors unopened. So many words he’s still realizing he has time now to say.</p><p>A shiver runs through Estinien. With the sun down, it’s gotten colder, and Haurchefant shifts away from him just enough to get his coat off his shoulders and draped over Estinien’s.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Estinien says. “I don’t—I’m not <em> cold </em>.” But even so, his long fingers are wrapping around the edges of the coat and pulling it around himself, his shoulders hunching as he burrows into the fur-lined collar.</p><p>“I would like to.” Haurchefant smiles, adjusting the coat more snugly around Estinien. Estinien <em> pouts </em>. It’s just slightly too large on him, and Haurchefant’s heart flutters at the sight of Estinien’s sharp silver-blue eyes in contrast with the yellow-gold accents of House Fortemps’ colors.</p><p>And then from inside the manor, the rising sound of music begins to carry over the party, a pianist, keying out a gentle waltz.</p><p>“Oh, fantastic.” Haurchefant beams at Estinien. </p><p>Estinien’s face is scrunched into a horrid little grimace, as if he’s smelled something particularly unpleasant. He hunches even deeper into Haurchefant’s coat. Oh, dear.</p><p>“I take it you wouldn’t like to dance,” Haurchefant notes, a little deflated. Estinien’s expression neutralizes immediately—his perceptiveness continues to startle Haurchefant.</p><p>“I prefer the dance of combat.”</p><p>“Do you know how? To <em> dance </em>, I mean, I am well aware of your martial capabilities.”</p><p>Estinien’s silence is all the answer he needs. The gears in Haurchefant’s mind are already beginning to turn, and his face splits into a little smirk. The longer Haurchefant tries to subdue his endeared giggling, the more Estinien’s eyes narrow. </p><p>“What are you planning?” Estinien asks, warily. “The answer is no.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Haurchefant smiles. “You haven’t even heard my proposition.”</p><p>“I dread to.”</p><p>“Come now, my friend,” he says, taking Estinien’s hand and standing.</p><p>Estinien freezes. “I’m <em> not </em> going in there.”</p><p>“We can hear the music perfectly fine from out here.”</p><p>Haurchefant leads a protesting Estinien past the open door of the party, around the side of the garden, to a smaller building beside the main manor. He recalls, in his youth, playing outdoors at parties with the other children of the nobility, the ones who didn’t seem to care about his origins. He very clearly recalls one of the Valentione daughters showing them all how to break into the small armory around the side of the manor. The lock is just as flimsy as before, and Haurchefant easily shoulders the door open. From within, he produces two dulled fencing foils, made for training without injury. He holds one out to Estinien by the handle. Eyes still narrowed, but brows raising in curiosity, Estinien takes it.</p><p>“May I offer you a dance?” Haurchefant punctuates his request by bowing to delicately kiss the back of Estinien’s hand as he grasps the hilt of the blade.</p><p>Even in the twilight, Estinien’s blush is dark enough to see. “You’re a menace,” he grits out, but he’s smirking. Haurchefant <em> beams</em>. </p><p>The pair of them return to the more open area of the courtyard, and begin casually trading blows, clearly both testing the waters. Neither one favors the rapier as their weapon of choice, but neither is a stranger to combat either, and soon they’re ducking and pivoting around each other easily, in a dance far more suited to knights than nobles. </p><p>“<em> I’m </em>a menace, though?” Haurchefant teases as he parries one of Estinien’s faster blows. “Compared to the erstwhile Azure Dragoon—”</p><p>“Which I am no longer, I’ve retired,” Estinien protests, spinning around to strike at Haurchefant from the side. Haurchefant dodges, takes a stab of his own, Estinien parries and uses the momentum to catch Haurchefant on his undefended side. “You're not used to combat without a shield, you're wide open.”</p><p>Haurchefant laughs and ignores him, and does not take the bait to make an innuendo. “—you decline all polite company, have no purported hobbies, and take delight in teasing dear young Alphinaud? You, who I’ve heard tell cannot be bothered to use the front door when arriving via Aymeric’s balcony might instead suffice?” </p><p>He twists around as he parries another of Estinien’s strikes, catching the wrist of his sword arm in one hand and gently spinning Estinien in towards him. Estinien doesn’t drop his sword, startled though he looks, but he allows Haurchefant to maneuver them into the steps of a waltz. Pausing to set down his blade, he rests one hand on Estinien’s waist, pulling him into the rhythm with greater ease than he expected. Estinien is warm to the touch, even in the chill air. He tenses at first at Haurchefant’s touch, but relaxes so quickly that his hesitance might have been imagined. And sure enough, Estinien sets down his own blade as well—or, well, he stabs it into the nearest topiary for safekeeping. </p><p>“The balcony was <em> one time </em> ,” Estinien snaps, but he’s smiling— <em> truly </em> smiling, not smirking or sneering or grimacing. It hits Haurchefant like a brick that he’s never beheld the sight before. It’s subtle, and it looks like something Estinien isn’t completely used to having on his face, because he can’t seem to meet Haurchefant’s eyes. Fury save him, he’s genuinely caught feelings for this ever-sharpened knife of a man. </p><p>“Besides,” Estinien adds, “<em>your </em> record includes you being an insufferable flirt with a trickster streak a malm wide. And just so you know, I let you catch me.”</p><p>“Of course you did. And I’m still a saint compared to your rumored antics,” Haurchefant teases. He tries to spin Estinien, startling him. They both stumble, and it’s only by the grace of Estinien’s dragoon reflexes that Estinien manages to catch him in a surprising approximation of a dip before he falls backwards into the bushes.</p><p>“Well, aren’t you getting along well.”</p><p>Aymeric stands some distance away on the cobblestone footpath through the garden, backlit by a gentle glow from the heart-confetti braziers bracketing the open door to the courtyard. In this light, with his eyes alight with soft emotion at the sight of his partners, he looks resplendent. Haurchefant feels a sudden swell of deep affection for him, far more romantic than that of a friend with benefits. Perhaps he’s been ignoring this for too long.</p><p>Estinien, for his part, immediately straightens up, pulling Haurchefant to his feet and releasing him. But Haurchefant isn’t going to pretend he didn’t hear the reluctant sigh he let out as he did.</p><p>Aymeric crosses to join them in the courtyard, curiously eyeing the fencing foil stuck through the topiary on his way. “I mean that sincerely,” he says softly. “It pleases me to see you finally have a chance to connect. I can’t count the times I’ve heard from both of you that you desired ‘oh, at least one brief moment alone’ to finally get to know each other, instead of pining from a distance.”</p><p>“I don’t <em> pine </em>,” Estinien snaps.</p><p>“No, you rather brood. May I partake in this dance, if you’re for once inclined to oblige?”</p><p>Estinien huffs, crossing his arms. “No, you’re being a tease and a little shit. See if you get to ‘surprise’ me at all tonight.” </p><p>“I rather think you’ve already begun to appreciate the surprise I had in mind.” Aymeric nods in Haurchefant’s direction. Estinien’s brow furrows, and then his jaw drops as he whips around to stare at Haurchefant. Haurchefant beams at Estinien, and before he can think better of it, he leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on Estinien’s cheek.</p><p>“Oh,” Estinien says, a solid octave higher than his usual tone. “<em>Really</em>.” Then, after a beat, he adds quietly, to himself, “Fury have mercy.”</p><p>“If… that is alright with you?” Haurchefant asks softly. Estinien nods immediately. Even in the ever-dimming light Haurchefant can see him flushing a vibrant red once more. He looks back at Aymeric, who smiles and nods. Then, quite to Haurchefant’s surprise, Estinien spins back towards him and surges up to press their lips together.</p><p>It’s inelegant, and clumsy—neither of them are strangers to kissing, as Haurchefant well knows, but kissing <em> each other </em> is another story. For all his stoicism and emotional constipation, Estinien is a <em> fierce </em>kisser, winding his hands into the fabric of Haurchefant’s shirt and dragging him in close. He nips—gently, but those are some surprisingly sharp teeth—at Haurchefant’s lips, and Haurchefant can’t help but sigh sweetly and part them for him, letting Estinien deepen the kiss. He wraps his arms around Estinien’s waist, tilting his head to allow him better access in return.</p><p>It’s over almost as suddenly as it started, Estinien pulling back with a faintly bewildered look on his face, as if he cannot believe himself. Haurchefant leans in toward him and rests his forehead against Estinien’s, and murmurs, “Don’t you worry yourself, now.”</p><p>“Didn’t mean to be so—intense. Not right out the gate, anyroad.”</p><p>Haurchefant chuckles, and leans down to press a soft, chaste kiss on Estinien’s cheek. “If I minded, you would know.”</p><p>Estinien doesn’t say anything, but he nods and nuzzles his face into the crook of Haurchefant’s neck, leaving a small kiss of his own before pulling away. Then his eyes go wide and he whips his head around to look at Aymeric. </p><p>Aymeric approaches them and takes one of each of their hands in his own. He plants a gentle kiss first on Estinien’s knuckles, then Haurchefant’s, and he sighs contentedly. “Truly, the two of you ease my heart.”</p><p>Aymeric’s delight seems to put Estinien at ease, and he offers the Lord Commander a kiss on the cheek as well, followed by a soft, slow kiss on the lips. Haurchefant feels his face heat up, watching their intimacy in such close proximity. The both of them are so handsome as to take his breath away. </p><p>Releasing Estinien from the kiss, Aymeric quite casually pulls Haurchefant away from him and into a twirl that leads him back into a waltz. Haurchefant, unaccustomed to being the follow, stumbles to keep up with it out of nowhere, and Aymeric’s grip around his waist tightens ever so slightly. He smiles at Haurchefant, eyes bright and playful as he peers up through his lashes.</p><p>Haurchefant’s heart flutters. They’d never discussed romance, but—well, Aymeric <em> has </em> admitted to caring for him, and Haurchefant had said as much in return, oh dear, perhaps they’ve been more than friends with benefits for some time and Haurchefant was oblivious to the change—</p><p>Estinien rescues him and his own deepening blush by making fun of Aymeric. “What do you mean, I <em> ease your heart</em>? You were just telling me this afternoon how much grief I give you,” he quips. </p><p>“That was when you refused to put on the <em> very nice doublet </em> I had commissioned for you.” This close, Haurchefant can hear the soft huff of affectionate laughter Aymeric lets out.</p><p>Estinien crosses his arms. “I can’t maneuver easily in a fight if I’m buttoned up so tight I can’t breathe.”</p><p>“And what combat do you perceive yourself getting into at House Valentione’s annual holiday party?”</p><p>Estinien casts an amused glance at the discarded fencing foils before glaring solidly at Aymeric. He turns to Haurchefant, sarcastic. “This man,” he points at Aymeric, “just had the gall to ask what threats we might perceive in the company of the shattered remains of the Holy See and the slighted Ishgardian nobility. We’ve been romancing a fool.”</p><p>“I believe Ser Lucia oversees his sociopolitical threat level, usually,” Haurchefant replies, heart fluttering at<em> we </em> and <em> romancing</em>. “He’s rather helpless about it without her.”</p><p>“I am <em> not</em>.”</p><p>“That would do it, aye.”</p><p>“He’s ever the optimist.”</p><p>“It’s going to get him killed.” Estinien huffs.</p><p>Aymeric groans . “Oh, Halone. I failed to anticipate this potential union entailing the <em> both </em> of you ganging up on me.”</p><p>“Now <em> there’s </em> an idea,” says Haurchefant, before his better judgement can stop him. Aymeric scoffs, but he’s smiling nonetheless. Estinien, on the other hand, even though he’s smiling as well, looks faintly scandalized. It dawns on Haurchefant that as much as he casually flirts, he tends to reserve the direct innuendo for his actual partners.</p><p>Well, if the evening has been any indication, Estinien might find himself in that position.</p><p><em> Hmmm… </em> Haurchefant spends a solid moment spacing out, thinking of Estinien in a variety of related positions, before Aymeric ceases dancing and distracts him back to reality with a gentle peck on his lips. Haurchefant grins with excitement and returns the gentle kiss tenfold, Aymeric becoming more and more amused with every kiss. </p><p>“I had a thought,” Aymeric says to them both, through his laughter, “that we might spend the remainder of the evening relaxing further yet from the crowds. Care to take our lea—”</p><p>“Let me out of here,” interrupts Estinien. Haurchefant barks out a surprised laugh. If Haurchefant’s intentions can be called unsubtle, Estinien is on a whole other level. That said, besides the sudden wave of melancholy, he’d thought he and Estinien had been having a fairly alright time together. </p><p>Estinien approaches the pair of them and stares Haurchefant down. “Please, by the Fury, say we can leave.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m coming too!” he realizes, and Aymeric stifles a chuckle and nods to him. </p><p>“If you yet desire to, yes, my dear.”</p><p><em> My dear, my dear </em> echoes in Haurchefant’s ears. He grins, and leans in to press another kiss to Aymeric’s cheek. “Let us take our leave then!” he declares.</p><p>Haurchefant reaches a hand out to both Aymeric and Estinien. He cannot stop the swelling of warmth in his chest when they both take his hands.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In a reality where nobody dies in Heavensward, it dawned on me that Estinien, Ysayle and Haurchefant would have all faced down the thought of dying to protect someone else (Haurchefant and Ysayle for the Warrior of Light, and Estinien for all of Ishgard). And frankly, I don't think Ysayle would be comfortable commiserating with Estinien over it, even if he was comfortable with her. So Haurchefant gets to play martyr trauma ping-pong with him instead.</p><p>There might be a smutty sequel to this if I ever muster the requisite energy and chutzpah to write it??? I've begun writing it. I would like to write it. I might need a lot of caffeine to write it.</p><p>Also, if you know what Emmanellain's bad poetry is a reference to, I think it's safe to say that poking fun at me for it is probably mutually assured destruction.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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